


A Dream, Buried Deep

by OdioEtAmo



Category: Hornblower (TV), Hornblower - C. S. Forester
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death Fix, Hornblower during the crisis, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, i'm going to call this a reunion fic ok, if that wasn't already blatantly obvious, just to clarify this is a dreadful mix of book/tv Hornblower, when i know exactly what on earth im writing here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-21 06:31:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18138653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OdioEtAmo/pseuds/OdioEtAmo
Summary: Following the plot of ‘Hornblower in the Crisis’... somewhat. After handing control of the Hotspur, Horatio boards the water hoy ‘Ophelia’, but he can’t shake the compulsion that there’s something deeply strange about the ship’s Captain. It's almost as though they've met before.





	1. Ignoble Ends

“We’d better say goodbye, Mr Bush. The best of luck under your new captain.” 

Those were the last words that Horatio had said to Bush as his Captain. They had also been the last words he would say to his friend, in what could prove to be a very long time. Then they had stood by as the man who had supplanted him boarded the ship. Captain Meadows had been delivered to them by a little water hoy, and now he ascended, as large as life up the gangplank. Larger than life perhaps, he commented in his head to nobody but himself. He had stood on deck, a giant of every dimension, as the crew watched, their eyes drawn to nothing else. That was how it always was with a new Captain- he remembered his first transfer to the Indefatigable from Justinia, remembered how wowed he had been, mind dizzying itself with every little detail he could possibly glean about his new Captain, his new ship. He did not blame them. He blamed them a little, actually. But he acknowledged that he could not reprove them for it. Somehow this did not make his mood any better. 

They conducted the formalities as mechanically and efficiently as possible. That was fine by him- if he dwelt too long he would put himself in a foul mood indeed. Before too long he found himself stood idly on the starboard bow, Captain Meadow in tow as the both of them were pulled inevitably into the roles that the other had just exchanged. These were ‘Captain of the Hotspur’ and ‘Nobody in Particular’. Horatio looked down upon the water hoy where he could just make out the sounds of a warm, charismatic voice holding sway on the deck.

“Who’s that fellow, sir?” asked Horatio, with a jerk of his thumb at the captain of the hoy. He was making an effort to be civil.

“His name is Macheath.” answered Meadows. “Captain of the Hoy, eccentric sort of fellow. Friendly enough, but he has a pernicious sense of humour. Not only captain but three sixty-sevenths owner, and he and all the crew are under protection from pressing, as he was more than eager to tell me. As I understand it, all under contract from the Navy Office.”

“M’m.” Said Horatio. “I’m taking passage with him.”

Captain Meadows eyed him. “Best luck with that then.” His disdainful gaze made Horatio even more aware of how in so many minutes the meaning had drained out of him, washed away with the spray. Captain Meadows turned back to his business.

He watched the workings of the ship for another minute, as his officers, his men scurried about. They were busied with all the excitement of a new captain, with not a second thought to the old, he thought gloomily. He was nothing here now. The home, the belonging had been chipped off him. While he could never have called himself ungrateful to Admiral Cornwallis. His parting gift had been generous indeed. He was as indebted to the man as he was sad to see him go- for selfish reasons as much as anything else. He had lost a deal of patronage and influence with Cornwallis when he left. But see- he was being ungrateful, wasn’t he? Blast. 

The swell glittered in the intense light of midday, as it rocked the Hotspur and the water hoy beside it, each caught in the opposite motion to each other, bucking and rolling as the gangplank between the two of them shifted quite alarmingly. Horatio could not claim to be so nimble as his able seamen- this would be a trial. Still, there was no time like the present. He waited, timing his descent so as to minimise the distance he would have to travel between the end of it and the hoy. He stepped forward onto the gang plank, skittering down it in what he was sure was an utterly ridiculous sight to see, his arms cartwheeling around him more than one time, trying desperately to balance himself against the wind and the ship’s sharp motion. He jumped- he had timed it well, only six feet of distance between him and the hoy. His body however did not serve him as well as his mind. The tip of his boot stuck on something before he could make his landing secure, and was sent tumbling forward upon the deck of the hoy, colliding with something loose, and falling like a sack of potatoes upon it. 

Having closed his eyes upon impact, Horatio opened them, and with a mounting sense of disgrace and horror, found his face pressed into the thick fabric of somebody’s coat. 

It had been a person that he had collided with. 

“Ow!” Came a disgruntled voice. “Mind what you’re doing with those elbows!”

He scrambled to his feet, offering his hand to the poor man he had just collided with, recognising his coat as that of the Captain of the hoy. Hell. The man took his hand, and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet more graciously than Horatio would have done in his place. Then the man’s eyes met his and he found himself face to face with a ghost.


	2. With Company Like This...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is that... no, surely it isn't... not Archie? 
> 
> Horatio exchanges a few words with Captain Macheath and makes some new acquaintances besides.

His mind was frozen in shock. Only one thought bounced between the walls of his brain, an india rubber ball bouncing about an empty room. Kennedy, was that thought. It was as uncanny as the grave. The man who stood before him was as real as the ship they stood upon, as the few seconds had proven indubitably. But his features were phantasmal- hair that was neither blonde nor brown blew about his face, his mouth hanging just a tad open, and every detail of his weatherbeaten face was like a dagger in Horatio’s back. Those lips, that wide, sculpted jaw. Eyes like sea ice. 

Horatio stood there, jaw hanging open, looking to all the world like a startled fish. He had never been a particularly devout man, but he could almost believe that this was some sort of divine retribution. That some cruel force had contrived to remind him of his worst failure. That it had sent his likeness back down, a testament to the goodness of one man and the weakness of another. 

“Oh...Hullo...” Said the man, and Horatio was suddenly shaken back to reality. 

“My- sincerest- apologies.” He inclined his head politely. “Captain Hornblower, at your service. I’m to take passage back to England.” 

The captain of the hoy said nothing, obviously still shocked at the manner of Horatio’s entry. Horatio would prompt him gently. 

“Might I have your name, sir?” He asked, though he already knew it. 

The man blinked, his expression utterly inscrutable. He opened his mouth, appearing to wrap itself around the beginning of a word, before swallowing it entirely. 

Behind them, somebody dumped Horatio’s sea chest unceremoniously on deck. 

“Captain Macheath, of the Ophelia.” He said in a weak, reedy sort of tone, as if he had had to strangle the words out of himself. 

Then the pumps, which had been heaving out water most irregularly sputtered to a halt, and the deck fell most conspicuously quiet. 

The still was rescued by Mr Bush. “That’s only nineteen ton! Keep her pumping, sir.” 

“Not possible, sir!” 

An argument broke out between the two of them then, and Horatio was left there, becalmed. 

“Hullo there,” A man strolled across deck toward him. “What business d’you have with us?” He said brusquely, coming to stand before Horatio. 

“I am to be given passage back to England.” He said simply. “Captain Hornblower.” 

“Mr Leone of the Ophelia- as I’m sure is obvious.” The man nodded. “I’ll take you to your berth.” 

Taking no time, he picked up Horatio’s sea chest, and set off with it below decks. Horatio followed him, rendered quite dumb by his experience- he managed to hit his head on one of the timbers, which he was almost certain he heard someone snickering over. Still, he was not Captain here- it was not his place to mete out discipline. So he merely followed Leone to what was to be his compartment. Mr Leone stowed his chest below his hammock with rather less care than he should have liked. He did not comment on it. 

“Now, did captain explain mess arrangements to you?” Asked Mr Leone. He had quite a peculiar voice, one that seemed to carry a different accent with every syllable. He had some of an american drawl one moment, the next he sounded dutch, then italian. 

“He did not.” 

“Righto.” Leone smiled. He had a handsome sort of face, though it too was hard to place. He had the familiar tan of any man who had been at sea for a while, but the homogeneity of the seafarer’s complexion did not disguise that the line of his descent traced from somewhere far sunnier than England. Italy perhaps, or possibly even somewhere further east. His face had an unmistakable affectation of self-satisfaction. “Now, cabin food’s a guinea a day, unless you want to compound it, which makes it three guineas for the whole trip. Up front, if you don’t mind.” 

Horatio very much did mind- he minded three guineas. And with such sharp, dark eyes boreing into him, it struck him as entirely possible that this price might be entirely subject to the artfulness of mr Leone, who looked to be regarding him with a great deal of amusement. 

“I think I would rather conduct such a transaction with your captain.” He insisted haughtily. 

“Pardon me sir. I’m sure you may appeal to him if you find you cannot afford it.” 

Horatio stared at him in shock. The insolence of the man was more than he would have expected from any man, not least a sober one, and still his eyes twinkled with mischief. 

“That was hardly my objection.” He fumed, trying unsuccessfully not to let the heat of his anger show on his face. He extracted three guineas from his pocket and handing them over. He would not be seen as a man who troubled over a few guineas.

Leone met his gaze, quite clearly unaffected by Horatio’s ill-concealed contempt. It brought to mind Captain Meadows’ words back on the Hotspur- that the crew were all granted protection by the Navy board. No wonder Captain Macheath had made it so explicit to him. With a crew so poorly dispositioned, he could hardly have been the only officer who found such insult aboard. 

“I will ensure that the captain is notified as soon as possible.” He grinned, making it quite plain that he had known all along what Horatio’s objection was. “I’ll take my leave then, shall I?”

Horatio was left to ruminate in his small compartment. The voyage was off to an ill start so far, very ill indeed. So far, a catastrophic entrance, the promise of truly infuriating company- the less he saw of that Mr Leone the better. And then… there was the Captain. The memory of that moment on deck stilled the anger in his heart, replacing it with something altogether worse, tentacles of cold clawing at his innards, constricting his throat. He couldn’t believe it. 

And he shouldn’t believe it either. His oldest friend, Archie Kennedy lay entombed in an unmarked plot in Gibraltar, having given up both his life and honour, suffering pain and ignominy, all on Horatio’s behalf. It was an insult, surely, to Archie’s memory to engage in such nonsense, imagining him to be here of all places, in place of a man whom he was sure looked far less like him than Horatio had perceived. In fact, he was sure of it- the differences were obvious- Captain Macheath’s hair was less gold, more dull brown, and he had a thin scar across his upper lip and cheek that Archie had not had. In hindsight, he thought… no, he was certain- that the man he had seen up there had nothing in the slightest to do with Archie Kennedy, barring a passable resemblance. It had been a flight of fantasy, he had unconsciously noted the likeness, and his mind had done the rest, painting a beautiful mask in front of his eyes. He had wished to see Kennedy, so it was Kennedy that he saw.

He should have been ashamed of himself. He was, deeply ashamed, so much that he could hardly think to do anything but lay in his hammock, utterly miserable, his mind wandering about, unchecked and uncheerable. 

That night Horatio took supper in his berth, the lack of an invitation to dine with the captain cementing what he now knew- that he was a shameful fool who engaged far too eagerly in flights of fancy. As day passed into night, he lay, waiting for the roll of the waves to rock him to sleep, quite aware that sleep was beyond him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> None of my work is beta-ed beyond a basic check made by me before posting, so I apologise for any errors made in the work, semantic or otherwise. With any luck, I'll have the next chapter out in about eight hours or less. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


	3. Ophelia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Archie meditates on the events of the day.

Archie staggered into his cabin at the end of a day longer than any day had a right to be. He slumped into his chair and poured himself a drink. Then, glass in his hand, he looked out over his tatty cabin. It was not the decorous lodging of a ship of the line; not the life his parents had envisioned for their headstrong little boy; nor was it the one that had held sway in the best of his dreams. Life had a habit of defying both hope and expectation, though. He would not call it for the worse, though. The Ophelia was still an achievement, the triumph of his new life. She was a beautiful little thing, at least to him. 

She could hardly have been anything to the Hotspur though. 

He turned his glass of wine around and around in his hands. The wine was one of the chief joys that his little cabin offered. Second, of course to the heavy volumes of this and that stowed safely in his chest, except for his brick- the bard’s complete set of plays was nestled in with his blankets, as he was re-reading Hamlet for the upteenth time. That was what he needed- a diversion. Only for the next few days, until they put in to shore, and Archie need not hear the name of, see the face of, hear the voice of, or entertain all these blasted thoughts of Horatio Hornblower. 

A knock came from the door. 

“Come in.” Archie said, setting his glass of wine down. 

“Captain, my captain!” An exceedingly cavalier voice filled the room, followed by the unmistakable presence of Mr Leone. Archie downed the rest of his glass. 

He had expected someone else.

“Getting soused are we?” 

Archie refilled his glass, and poured out another one beside, offering it to Leone. “Subtle.” He commented without a great deal of humour. 

Leone took the glass in his hand, having an idle sip. “Since you insisted. It’d be rude to let you ruin your health alone.” 

Archie could think of a million snide comments to answer that with, but he didn’t have the heart for any of them. 

“Awfully quiet today, you are.” Leone mused, eyeing him wryly. “Our new passenger didn’t knock the humour out of you, did he?” 

He might well have, Archie noted to himself. 

“Did you get a good look at the fellow? All the grace of a newborn foal. If he’s all the british can muster for sea captains I daresay they’ll be singing La Marseillaise on barnet hill before the year is out.” 

Archie snorted. “If the navy could muster three, maybe five more Horatio Hornblowers Old Boney would be suing for peace as we speak.” 

Leone’s face spelled a little ‘O’. He was interested now, that was for sure. 

“I didn’t realise you knew him.” 

Oh, Archie knew him alright. At this point, he would have thought ‘knew’ would have counted as an understatement. He had already been proven wrong on that though. 

“We served together.”

“I suppose you expect me to believe that he gets less gawky on closer acquaintance.” 

“Oh he’s gawky all right. It just isn’t his distinguishing quality. Most of the time, anyway.” 

He smiled despite himself. A memory came to mind unbidden, of Mr Midshipman Hornblower’s debut aboard the Justinia. Those first weeks were jolly times, and somehow the memory of Horatio being rather profusely seasick all over Archie’s shoes did not tarnish those golden times in the slightest. 

“Qualities such as…?”

“Oh, you know. Cleverness, insight, determination to the point of stubbornness and enough luck to beat the devil at backgammon.” 

That was a pragmatic answer, even if it was lacking some. Like astonishing compassion and tenderness, just enough naivety to befit an idealist. Not to mention the arse of an adonis. 

“I’ll take your word for it then, since you seem to know him so well.” 

The smile faded from Archie’s face. 

“I thought so too.” He murmured to himself. 

Mr Leone gave him a nonplussed look. 

“It seems I rather overestimated the extent of our friendship.” He regarded Leone’s countenance for any indication that he was understood. From the looks of it, probably not. 

Archie sighed. “He doesn’t recognise me, Sebastian. Looked right through me, as if I wasn’t there at all.” 

Leone frowned. “And how long did you serve together?” 

“Long as I can remember- and on three different ships no less, three!” He paused to pour himself another glass of wine, suddenly realising that his glass was already empty, and an empty glass was something he strictly disapproved of at this moment in time.

“And you’re sure he didn’t recognise you?” 

Leone held out his glass, also empty, for Archie to refill it. He did, which doubtless made him one of the most equitable captains between here and the middle seas. Or the easiest to manipulate, one of the two. He preferred the first, though the second favoured his current temperament far better.

“He asked me my name.” He said gloomily. “What more proof do you need?”

Sebastian Leone frowned again, before his smarmy countenance slid over top once more. 

“So much for ‘don’t forget your old shipmates’, eh?” He mused. “Perhaps he isn’t as fantastic as you remember, Captain. All those years, perhaps your brain embellished the details.

“Mm.” Archie replied noncommittally.

Incidentally, he hadn’t embellished the details, at least not the ones that mattered. Three years was not nearly enough to rob him of some of his most powerful memories, good or bad. He could not forget Horatio, just as he couldn’t forget Spain, the Renown or Jack Simpson. 

“Maybe this’ll cheer you up?” Leone raised an eyebrow, and slid three guineas forward onto the desk. “He didn’t half put up a fuss about paying.”

Archie looked down at the guineas, and then back up at Leone. 

“We’re not charging him for food.”

“We aren’t?”

“We aren’t.”

Now it was Mr Leone’s turn to look put out.

“We charge every passenger for food! He shouldn’t be any different- he doesn’t even know who you are.” 

Archie knew that. Still, those words plucked a beat from his heart. 

“Because.” He said quietly. “I am your captain and I will be obeyed. Do I make myself clear Mr Leone?” 

Leone stood there, positively bristlying. But he mustered himself. “Aye aye, sir.” He said, though it was clear it gave him no pleasure. 

“Very well. You are dismissed.” 

Mr Leone put his glass down and walked away. He left Archie in silence. He stacked the three guineas atop each other, and watched them slide away again as the ship rolled, made overly buoyant by their lack of cargo. He couldn’t help thinking of Horatio’s old uniforms, and how they were always slightly threadbare, worn through at the elbows. With any other passenger, he could not know their financial straits, and rarely became attached enough to feel guilty for fleecing them. Of course it was different with Horatio. It always was.

Making a noise of endless frustration, he rose from his chair, taking the three guineas from the table and heading out of his cabin, the door slamming behind him. In no time he found himself in front of the compartment that Horatio was bunked in. He was so close. So close. All it took was for him to open that door. To reach out a hand, to tell him, to look at him. Surely Horatio would remember. Surely he could not have forgotten him, not really, could he? Archie knocked on the door. 

That was when he realised that he was still a coward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Chapter! Sorry if it's at all incoherent. I am very, very tired- riding this wave of inspiration hasn't earned me a great deal of sleep these last few days. 
> 
> I know Mr Leone isn't very cohesive to anyone's expectations- I will explain him later on, I promise.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
